There Be Dragons
by Mercellis Chandlerance
Summary: Brothers, bound by blood, Brothers, bound by heart, Brothers, bound by soul. They grew up together, never spending a moment apart, they knew each other, reading the other's mind. Now though, half is gone, memory lost. It is time. Time to realize who he is and meet his brother once again. T for violence and death.
1. Chapter 1: Visuals

**Disclaimer: I do not own this amazing franchise know as the Maze Runner. All rights go to James Dashner, the author of the Maze Runner, and his publishing company whom he probably sold the rights to. This story is written purely for my entertainment with nothing to do with profit or recognition. "I write what I want to write, I write what amuses me, it's totally for myself."- J.K. Rowling.**

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><p>Curled against a hard slab of concrete was a silent, still form. A gentle hand ran across the boy's back, for he had curled up with his face facing into the cement, eliciting a soft murmur from the small form. The small form was one of thirty forms, some taller and others smaller. Most of the boys were unconscious, though a few had woken to panic attacks with an even fewer number even remotely calm.<p>

The calmest of the boys was also one of the tallest, for at around sixteen he towered over the other boys, save for a small number of them. Those who were calm enough tried to calm those panicking, while the unconscious slowly woke.

One waking boy in particular was panicking, with eyes snapping open and flaring with panic. He began to tremble, coughing slightly, finding his lungs clogged and mind blank with fear. Nothing seemed able to calm him in the midst of eleven others panicking, fourteen unconscious and a mere four resembling calm. As time passed, small gasps of oxygen reached the boy's lungs and slowly, very slowly, his lungs cleared, but that didn't stop the panic that was reaching the boy's mind and tearing him apart. Tiny shoulders shook with panic as a fourth boy who had finally calmed knelt over him, murmuring in quiet tones in a vain attempt to calm the trembling boy. In a long process, more woke to the blazing sunlight from above them, darkness nowhere within his vision. More boys were panicking while few were calming and the tallest boy tried to sooth them.

A sob shook the boy's frame as he heard an older boy speaking to him softly. The brilliant light sickened his stomach as tears traced his thin cheeks.

Then, in a single instant, the sunlight dimmed greatly, as if a cloud had covered the sun, jolting everyone from their panic for a moment, while a few were still out cold. The tallest boy stood and looked up, before shouting in a thick but warm accent, "Anyone here?" To most of the boys, the accent was so thick they just couldn't understand, but not to the still panicking boy curled against the concrete slab. He understood it perfectly, but moments later passed out, breath coming smoother than before.

As if in answer to the tall boy's words, a long, creaking groan filled the immense area as an immense part of the wall began to shift. Darkness reached through the doors and casting what seemed like shadows into the huge area.

The two or three unconscious boys slowly stirred, waking, blinking up at the light as the tallest boy hauled himself from the room.

" 'Ello?" He shouted, but his voice echoed back from something hard and big. "Anyone?"

There was no answer so the tallest boy began to help others stand from stumbling back in amazement at the sudden darkness. Finally, it was only the last unconscious boy, who was slowly and quietly stirring who was left trembling against the concrete slab, all but forgotten.

And he was panicking.

* * *

><p>Yet none of the boys took any notice of him until he had fully woken and was staring straight up at one of the older boys, breath coming ragged and heart beating fast.<p>

The boy who was in the smallest boy's gaze turned around, sensing a gaze on his back, to find a hard but terrified stare directly at his face.

The boy froze. "G-guys?" He asked, voice quiet and trembling in the silence.

Slowly, the tallest boy turned around, smiling. "Good, your awake, mate. Welcome to the land of the living." And the small boy froze, eyes darkening with mistrust, before he spoke in a trembling voice that housed the same accent as the tallest boy.

"What are you lot. Cannibals?"

And the tallest boy burst out into laughter. "Nope, we're confused guys staring at big walls."

It was plain to see in the smaller boy's face that he did not believe them in the slightest. His lower lip trembled in fear as he stared up, unable to move and perfectly silent. The tallest boy's face softened as he watched the tiny boy who was shaking and twitching as the smallest boy watched the older one with deep mistrustful eyes. The tallest boy raised his hands, showing that he did not carry any weapons, before slowly lowering them to his sides as the much shorter boy watched with the same mistrust in his eyes.

"Name's Nick, mate. We'd all be right cheery if you'd forgive us for forgetting 'bout you. Let's start with getting you calmed down." Nick's voice was soothing against the smallest boy's ears.

The small boy hesitated as he watched Nick, who seemed perfectly calm, before nodding quietly. With very little difficulty, Nick reached the smallest boy and began to murmur soothingly to him, trying to calm the boy before helping him stand on weak, trembling legs, as though he had swum for hours, possibly days, on end, or been running for just as long.

Rubbing a hand along the smallest boy's back, Nick stood next to him, towering a foot and a half, probably over, the tiny boy with whom Nick shared the same shaggy, long blond hair.

Slowly the smallest seemed to calm very slowly, but he still had a glint of deep-seated mistrust flashing in his eyes, flickering back and forth with a dangerous spontaneity that seemed ready to blow at almost any moment. Which, of course, it was. After an awkward pause, the smallest spoke.

"What are you." It wasn't a question, it was a statement, one that demanded an answer with the quiet, scared yet commanding tones that blended perfectly within the thick accent of the shortest boy. Despite his small and lean stature it was easy to tell that the boy had the potential of a leader who understood his people.

One of the boys, an acne covered smaller one, sneered at the boy who had just spoken. "We're just the same as you, idiot. We're guys trapped in a giant, pricking walled in place!"

Nick gave him a cool look. "You're not helping the situation." He then turned to the smallest boy. "I, for one, only remember my name. I don't know who I am or where I came from, all I know is that my name is Nick."

Another tall boy nodded in agreement from the other end of the group. "My name is Alby. That is all that I know." This boy had dark skin and black hair with piercing dark eyes that seemed to stare right into your soul.

Introductions continued, some having names on the tip of their tongues, others having the perfect grasp of their names while others yet hadn't the slightest idea.

The shortest had his name resting at the tip of his tongue and it was making him anxious not knowing it, adding to the fear of losing his memories and awakening in a strange place with a group of boys who seemed as cold and dark as a cave past sundown.

* * *

><p>After several long days in what Nick had dubbed 'The Glade', the smallest boy still couldn't remember a thing about his past. Most of his long hours were spend carving away at a chunk of wood about the size of a human brain. How the smallest knew that was the size of a brain he didn't know, nor did he particularly want to know. With long, dull movements, he fashioned small figurines. One was a girl with long hair twisted back into a bun, another a man with a sharply pointed beard and mischief glinting in the wooden eyes, a third a woman, taller than the girl, but with the same face and long hair. Finally was the smallest boy himself, with shaggy blond hair and a square chin.<p>

During those several long days the Gladers (as they called themselves) had begun to specialize labor and without bundles of free time, they left the smallest be.

Nick had taken the place of leader, helping with the areas of work that needed helping with. Alby had become the second in command, doing the same as Nick did.

The Gladers had come to a leader of the smaller corps, the Keepers.

There was Zart, a towering quiet boy, for the Track-hoes who were in charge of the pre-setup farms. His only other member was Shane, a boy who simply loved to farm.

Minho, an Asian boy, was the first of the Runners, a group who explored what they had dubbed 'The Glade's Maze' along with George and Stephen.

A boy by the name of Thatch was Keeper of Choppers, the ones who gathered all the supplies and were kind of like messengers. Shawn and Benjy were the guys who were helping him.

The first Med-jack, or doctor, was Clint who worked with Jeff, Lewy and Mal.

Winston, the acne covered boy, was the Keeper of the Slicers, who had just Bruce and Swiff to help him care for the animals on the farm, along with prepare the meat.

Siggy, better known as Frypan, was the first of the Kitches, the guys who actually cooked everything. Lee and Alfy were the others who helped him.

Cole was the only Bagger, who kept fights from breaking out. They're job was pretty easy, so they also spend hours working in the fields, or other areas that needed help

There were then the Sloppers, who cleaned the place up every day. Marty, Adam and Theo were excellent with cleaning utensils, and it wasn't the easiest job, either.

Finally, there were the Builders, Zach, Ize, Churry and Cock who built everything and anything for hours on end_._

The smallest spent most of his time sitting in a corner of the Glade, turning his figurines over in his hands. Some days he'd cry softly while the others worked. He didn't leave his corner and every few hours, Nick would come by to speak to him, trying to convince the smallest to come out of his corner.

It was on the ninth day in the place that screams were heard from the Maze.

The smallest looked up in a mixture of shock and horror as twilight began to fall the runners returned. Minho and George came back through different doors, their loud voices signalling their return.

They passed through the doors just a few minutes before the loud, grinding noise signalled the closing of the doors.

Stephen had yet to return.

The shrieks continued on into the night and it sounded like a person was being torn apart, leaving behind their haunted screams that refused to fade into the night.

The next day, George found Stephen's body and a service was held in the forest where the smallest continued to hide. Ten long days and they had already lost a person.

That night, the smallest cried for a boy he had hardly known.

The morning of the eleventh day, the smallest woke with a faint impression in his mind. Nick had shaken him awake, when the smallest had jolted upright, eyes wild and panicking.

"Comin' out today, mate? Ya can't hide back here for forever, Greenie."

Greenbean. That was what the older, taller Gladers had taken to calling the smallest. Shoulders slumping slightly, Greenie shook his head quietly. "Still don't even know my name, Nick. I don't know what to do."

Nick just nodded quietly. He understood that saying that things would be alright would be lying so simply nodded gently and wrapped an arm around Greenie's thin shoulders as they shook with silent sobs.

Leaning into the seventeen-year-old's strong form, Greenie could feel that impression growing until it overwhelmed his mind.

It was just feelings, really. The tremor that passed through Greenie's hand as something cool and wet passed beneath it, yet solid unlike the cool water that slipped across his hand just like the feeling he had done.

Greenie often focused all of his energy on remembering, just a little something, in hopes of regaining even the smallest thing, like how wind felt on his face in the early morning.

The day passed on slowly, with Greenie turning his figurines over in his hand and he struggled to remember something, anything.

A few days passed that way and on the morning of the fourteenth day, Greenie _knew_ that was the day he would know something. He didn't care what it was, Greenie just wanted to know, and halfway through the day, his wish granted by whatever almighty spirits controlled them.

The Glade was as busy as ever, with the builders pounding away on what they were calling the Homestead, a building of wood held together with ropes that Greenie had spied from the edge of the forests. That particular hour, Greenie was sitting on the edge of the forest, just out of sight, watching the business of the day when a blinding pain filled his head. Instantly, Greenie clutched his head as his eyes rolled back, passing out, but a single sound had yet to escape his mouth as the figurine of the girl rolled from his had, landing face up in the fresh dirt. Greenie was out cold.

In his dreams, troubled thoughts plagued the boy's mind.

What was happening? Why was he there? What was his name? Was the Glade a prison? Who were the other boys? Would they die there like Stephen had? How long until they were all gone? Who put them there? What had killed Stephen? Would it kill the others, too? What was his name? Was it his real name? When would it return? What was he meant to do? And hundreds of other questions swirled around in a chaotic mess of jumbled emotions.

Images of mysterious, swirling, dark water blending into warm, cream water matched up with seeing the creamy colour do the same to dark, hot coffee. Each tiny glimpse at the real world left Greenie trembling with fear and confusion, for he didn't understand what was happening.

The strangest feeling overwhelmed him, a mixture of confusion, tranquility and horror, pushing against his mind in a way akin to someone shoving Greenie back ten feet.

Slowly, another image surfaced. Waves lapping against a sandy beach. Then it was an immense forest, five times the size of the one he hid in, with towering branches that reached the clouds and immense trees that climbed up a mountain side, reaching up for snowy peaks. The feeling of wind rushing at Greenie's face, teasing at him before dissipating into the cool night breeze. And finally, the memory that meant the most to Greenie. The memory that twisted his heart into a hundred different pieces.

A gentle voice whispering in his ear, tickling his face. "Oh my child, my youngest child, my little Zachary, and now, my precious Newton, precious Newt, be safe."

And Greenie, looking on, watched as the tiny form of his three-year-old self hugged his mother goodbye, tears streaking down his face as a soldier roughly pulled him away. Greenie's younger self whimpered softly as he stumbled into a car, having been pushed, and kept from struggling by a strong doctor who restrained him in her lap.

* * *

><p>The next scene was Greenie being led into a room that reminded the older Greenie of a jail cell. It was small with a bunk bed against one wall that had a boy sitting on the lower bunk reading a book. The boy looked around the younger Greenie's age, maybe slightly younger, but he looked like he was quite mature.<p>

"Hello, Dr. Woods. May I ask who this is?"

The doctor smiled indulgently at the boy. "Hello, Thomas. This is your roommate, Newton, or Newt for short. Say hello, Newton!"

Three-year-old Greenie, or Newt as his name actually was, looked down, studying the floor, before his eyes flickered up, as blue as the ocean, and he whispered, "Hello, Thomas."

"Hello, Newt. How are you today?"

Newt gave him a look of 'how old are you?' before replying. "I'm fine, thank you. Et tu? Ehm, sorry. And you?"

"Fine, thank you."

Looking pleased with the introductions, Dr. Woods smiled in an overly bright way. "I'll leave you two to get acquainted then!"

* * *

><p>Newt looked around five in this one. In his hands was a piece of metal to which he twisted around, forming something that was almost like an origami statue. With hollow eyes the younger version of the real Newt stared at the animal in his hand, a cat, before closing his fist over it and sighing.<p>

Suddenly Thomas was there. "You alright, mate?"

Newt nodded miserably. "I guess. I just wish that I knew more about where I came from and who I was before." A lone tear traced his cheek. "I mean, my first memory is when the WICKs came to my place to get me, so I want to know more."

Thomas didn't say anything. Judging by the look in the five-year-old's eyes, he didn't remember anything about his past. As though he had been in that place his entire life. So he simply sat next to his friend and offered the silent comfort as tears caressed Newt's cheeks in the darkness of what seemed like a prison of extreme weirdness.

* * *

><p>Seven-years-old, this time. Newt's past self and Thomas were both seated in desks, staring at screens, their fingers flying across keyboards. Their faces creased in concentration and they both seemed to write out long essays. The title of each: <em>The Flare; an Essay on the Disease Ravaging our World<em>.

They worked in perfect silence, each one occasionally flipping to pages filled with information on this 'Flare'. After what felt like hours, Newt sat back, staring at the screen with the faintest smile across his face.

He seemed to have completed the immense essay. The seven-year-old's eyes drooped sleepily. Thomas next to him was still typing ferociously, and then, maybe fifteen minutes later, his gaze scanned the page, up and down until he nodded and clicked a button that stated simply 'SAVE', just as Newt had done.

By that point, both boys looked ready to collapse and the vision faded to nothingness.

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><p>Taller now, maybe nine, at most ten.<p>

Newt and Thomas were both in a large classroom, just two of twenty or so boys.

They were all perfectly silent, listening to a teacher at the front of the room, teaching a math class. The teacher was talking about angles, which was rather dull to the boys, but none the less they were all the boys sat in perfect silence with straight backs and interested expressions. What felt like a half-hour later the class was told that they could go and all the boys all left in a straight, silent line.

As soon as they had left the classroom, the boys exploded into chatter. Some were laughing or cracking jokes, while others were complaining about having done the same unit in math the previous year and already knowing the subject.

Slowly, the groups split up and it was just Newt and Thomas walking dully back to their room with their bags filled with pages and pages of work to do.

Newt checked his watch dully. Half past three.

Together, the boys stepped into their plain, grey room, pulled out the pages of homework and began to work on it in an emotionless way, scarcely speaking, before Newt broke the silence.

"I wish they didn't give us all of this."

Thomas nodded in agreement. "It's ridiculous, but at least it's something to do in this place. I mean, Newt, we never do anything here aside from all of this work, so imagine what it would be like without all of it."

Newt groaned at the very thought. "Don't even speak of that, Tommy. 'Ould be absolute torture, that."

Thomas nodded in agreement. "Good that, mate."

"Good that."

And they worked on in silence for what felt like hours.

At around seven two meals appeared in a chute and the boys both ate their small meals before climbing into their beds and drifting off to sleep.

* * *

><p>Eleven or so, probably in sixth grade or late in fifth, Newt's former self was lying unconscious on a cold, hard table.<p>

Fear laced eleven-year-old's mind and transcribed to the older version's mind. Absolute, mind-blowing panic, washing all other feelings away and settling deep within Newt's soul.

Approaching the still form were doctors, about four of them, with a medical table next to the table. Dread settled against the older Newt's already terrified mind.

Then, ten minutes into a dangerous looking and painful experiment, Newt realized they were examining his former self's mind and an even deeper settled dread rested upon him like oppressive heat in a desert.

Newt tried to run away, far away, but found himself unable to move, frozen, watching as his skull had a laser that cut his skull open.

There were murmurs of fascination from the doctors who continued to examine Newt's brain as he bled out, believing that he would die.

Pain laced Newt's mind.

And it continued on for what felt like hours until his head was wrapped in long strips of white cloth.

Then they left, leaving a tiny, trembling form lying on a cold, hard table.

The pain continued on for a indiscernible amount of time.

There was no difference between the sleeping Newt and the waking one.

* * *

><p>They were identical, except one was drowning in an immense vat of water and the other watching in horror.<p>

Tears streaked Thomas' face as he watched, crying softly as Newt glared at him in disgust and horror. The look in his eyes said it all.

"I trusted you."

And then Thomas broke down, tears streaming down his face. "I'm so sorry, Newt, so, so sorry. Please, please, please, please forgive me, mate." And the young teen continued to beg with his friend to forgive him.

And just as a hint of forgiving sank into Newt's eyes, the boy sank to the bottom of the vat and he was unconscious.

* * *

><p>"Whoa, there, Greenie. You alright?"<p>

Newt sat bolt upright, eyes swimming with his visions as his mind tried to process what he had seen. "N-Nick?"

"Ya hit your head or something, kid? Yes it's me, kid."

Newt relaxed instantly, resting back against the bed as his eyes closed and some of the tension relaxing from his body. Then the smallest boy realized in a single instant. He _wasn't_ still hiding in the forest, but resting on a comfortable bed in a wooden building. Nick seemed to realize what Newt was thinking. "I went lookin' for ya bout two hours ago and found you unconscious in the forest, curled up against a tree, twitching and trembling all over. I figured I'd bring you back here so that we could know when you woke. You alright, Greenie?" Nick's voice was heavily accented with a slight lilt that made him sound strange compared to the other boy's neutral and very similar accents. He sounded like a sort of older sibling who protected and cared for his younger siblings no matter what.

"Newt." The voice was just a faint whisper.

"Sorry, mate? What was that?"

"Newt, not Greenie. My name's Newt."

Nick smiled down at the boy who looked enough like him for the two could be siblings and ruffled his hair gently. "That's great, Newt, that's amazing. Come on, let's bring you to meet the boys."

Newt already knew all the boys, or at least their names, yet the others knew very little about him. They knew that Newt was the youngest, smallest and quietest boy in the Glade, that he had hidden in the forest and hadn't recovered his name like they had.

So Nick brought Newt around, introducing him to everyone as 'Newt the Greenbean', to which they cheered and clapped the small boy's back, offering for him to joining each of their separate groups, each with its own leader, but Newt knew what he wanted to do. He was twitchy and could run quick as the wind, ready to do so at any moment. Newt wanted to, needed to, move all the time and burn the energy that was filling him and any of the other duties couldn't do that for him. Oh yes, Newt wanted to do something dangerous. He wanted to run like the wind through endless paths and explore on and on and on. Newt, formerly know as Greenie, the smallest and Zachary, wanted to run and become a Runner with Minho and George and formerly Stephen who then rested in the dark lull of death with his body buried mere feet beneath the ground.

But as Newt tried the different options, he found that he also could have been a Track-hoe or Med-jack, for he had the skills to do either with skill in the workings of a farm and calming of a person, both essential for their respective duties.

It was on the twenty-first day, a week later, that Newt would have the skill to become a Runner just like he wanted to.

Minho and George had been looking for a guy who was willing or wanted to help them map the maze and was also eligible for the place. They wanted a guy who was quick with both his mind and body. They wanted a guy who could run.

By the end of the twenty-first day Newt was the third Runner and Minho had even suggested that the smallest boy would be the best of the Runners within a few days, at most a few weeks. The older boy laughed as he wrapped an arm around the smallest boy's, the Greenie's, shoulder laughing as he slapped the boy's back lightly. "That, Greenie, was the some a' the best running I have seen, even from Georgie over here."

George had protested only so that he was shut by a look from Minho.

"That was awesome for a tryout, kiddo. Tomorrow we'll travel as a group and show you around a bit, then you're with me until you're a full Runner when I say you are." Minho has spoken it and it all made Newt feel amazing. He had been welcomed into the society of the Gladers as their newest and youngest member.

It was on the thirtieth day when a loud ringing ran through the Glade causing many-a-Glader to jump in surprise to cover their ears and the Runners to exchange glances and sprint for the nearest entrance to the Glade.

It took them ten minutes to return, but at that point the other Gladers crowded around the concrete spot they had arrived from. The immense steel doors were open and beneath was a metal cage that hung suspended in place with their supplies and speaking in a jumble, staring down into the pit at something that Newt could not see.

Pushing through the large crowd, the Runners reached Nick who was leaning over the pit, watching a boy whom Newt had never seen before stare up at them with quick ragged breathing.

"What the bloody hell are you lot doing?" He asked, confused as to why they wouldn't be helping the new boy. "Let's get the newbie outa there before he decides to climb out himself and runs into the maze. Then we've got a problem." And his words spurred action, and Nick dropped down to the Box, as it had been named in the midst of boredom by bored Gladers of two weeks before.

" 'Ello, mate! Name's Nick and this place is what we call the Glade."

The newbie was trembling when something dawned on Minho's face. "Oh no! What are we going to call him until he remembers his name? Nick? Can we hold a Gathering?"

Newt jabbed his elbow into his friends ribs, causing the older boy to wince and complain quietly.

Nick shouted back up at the Keeper of the Runners. "No! Well, not now anyways. We _do_ need to decide if Newt'll be Greenbean forever or if it'll be a term that's handed down from newbie to newbie."

Newt grumbled softly, "None of you have been here any longer than me."

"I heard that, Greenie!"

"Don't call me Greenie!"

There were teasing jeers at Nick for having the Greenie, Newt, the tiny fourteen-year-old, fight back at him, but Nick hardly noticed, focusing on the new boy before him.

"Come on, mate, let's getcha outa this lift-ride from hell." As usual, Nick calmed the newbie without much trouble and he was soon standing next to Nick among the Gladers.

"Now, we can hold a Gathering. Hey, can somebody give the newbie the tour?"

Shawn, the sixteen-year-old Chopper volunteered along with Newt, so they gave the tour together, stressing greatly the importance of their three rules.

"Alright, man, we only have three rules here in the Glade. The first is never harm yourself or another Glader. That one's difficult for this klunk-for-brains over here."

Newt stared at him blankly, not picking up on the sarcasm. "Oh, come on, mate! We both know that I have a better mind than you do!"

Laughing slightly, Shawn continued. "All of our society only works if we have trust in each other and ourselves. Second is due your part. Again, if not everyone does their part, some won't be trusted which will lead to dark days. Last is to never, never leave these walls. That is especially hard for death-wish over here," he said, batting the back of Newt's head teasingly. It was as though Newt had become the younger brother to the other Gladers who were becoming all too protective of the smallest boy.

Seeing the confused look on the newbie's face, Newt explained calmly. "I'm what we call a Runner. Currently, we're a group of three who goes out every morning to explore the outside and comes back before sundown every night. We don't know much yet, but we can tell you this. You don't want to be found by what lurks out there. Minho, George and I, we're the Runners, have started calling them Grievers and they aint pretty. We don't know a damn thing about them and we've only lost one boy to them so far, but we're talking something that will kill you painfully. Poor Stephen was heard screaming for hours before it all cut off." A soberness surrounded Newt as he remembered the boy who never seemed to stop smiling. "Enough of that dark stuff, though. What can you tell me 'bout yourself, mate?"

The newbie shook his head. "I can't remember anything."

"Don't worry, it'll be back in a few days, unless-"

"Don't speak. Just, do not speak."

How long it had taken for his memory to return was still a sore spot for Newt. He didn't like being reminded of the pain of knowing that he was so different from the others. All he wanted was acceptance into their society.

Shawn just laughed. "Newt here's like our annoying younger brother who is way to smart for his age, or something. Seriously, the Med-jacks are sure the guy's got photographic memory or somethi-"

Newt whirled to glare at the friendly yet insensitive older boy. "Shawn, _shut up_." The Greenie despised it when people spoke of his 'excellent memory' when he was around to suffer the pain of knowing that his memory still hadn't returned to him the way it had to the others. It came in visions that Newt weren't even sure were true.

"Slim it nice and calm now, G- ehm Newt. There, now that feels better, right?"

Reluctantly, Newt nodded as he focused on his breathing and allowed the coming chill to sooth him, seeping into him and washing away the heat of day in the Glade. Twilight was nearing and it was one night when they didn't have to worry about someone not returning. The Runners had all sprinted for home when they heard the newly dubbed 'Newbie Alarm'.

The newbie was watching the exchange awkwardly as they walked past the fields. "Oh, these are the fields."

The tour continued on that way, Shawn and Newt arguing, the newbie acting confused, then the occasional explanation for what something was.

* * *

><p>That night, more visions came to Newt.<p>

He had curled up where he always did, in the same place that he always did. The young Runner couldn't rest properly anywhere else; he'd jolt awake panicking with his breath coming in ragged gasps, having woken some poor shank with his panicked screaming. Yet that night, Newt did not sleep as well as he'd have liked. He dreamed his strange and brilliant visions.

Newt was about six, curled up in a corner while fiddling with a book that lay in his hands.

It was a copy of _The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy_ and it was obvious that Newt wasn't enjoying reading the thick text.

Again, the younger version of himself flickered through the pages before snapping it shut and looking at Thomas, who sat nearby, with pleading eyes.

_'Hey, Tommy, can you give me the summary?' _But Newt hadn't spoken, yet the older Newt had heard it in his head. Then Thomas did the same, speaking without moving his mouth in a way that involved no sound, only words that popped into his mind. They were telepathic, and Newt remembered how...

_'Thought you'd never ask, brother!'_

Thomas had pulled out a tablet and began typing into it quickly. Within a matter of a few moments and several authorization codes, there was an immense and boring looking summary of the large book that was far too much to ask _six-year-old_ to read and comprehend as if they were fifteen or even older.

The Wicks, as they called people who worked for WICKED, didn't have a system to see if their students had cheated so Newt could easily get away with simply copying directly from a website.

The two close friends, practically brothers, could communicate in their minds. The future Newt then knew how and he planned on trying it. He wanted to know more about this boy named Thomas who was his honorary brother.

* * *

><p>Newt woke early the next morning, way before the Wake Up. Focusing hard on the face of Thomas, he closed his eyes, envisioning a void with only the tanned face, dark hair and deep blue eyes of his honorary brother.<p>

_'Tommy? Are ya there?'_

No answer, but Newt suddenly felt a presence flood into his mind.

_'Newt? Seriously? Seriously? This is awesome! You remember how we can communicate! Don't speak of it, though. If the WICKs find out, they'll cut us off, so just keep the telepathy to yourself. Hey, did the Swipe work?'_

_'What are you talking about?'_

_'I'll take that as a yes but wow, I am so excited! Oh, the Swipe is the way they wipe your minds. It is essentially a chip that blocks your long-term memory from working, so you don't remember anything from before then. It doesn't harm your mind and can be removed through the right process.'_

Their accents were identical, same as there voice patterns and the way their minds worked.

Thomas stopped speaking, or thinking, Newt supposed, and the lapsed into an easy silence, both just enjoying the presence of someone they knew so well, or at lest sort of knew so well.

Newt continued to sit in the forest until Thomas retreated to whatever he was doing.

Dawn was then breaking and Newt stood, stretching, to find Minho and George. The two boys could be found outside the West entrance, the newbie, Ben they had learned, watching with curiosity. "We're Runners," Minho stated simply. "It's our job to explore the outside and try to find a way out. We'll do whatever it takes to get out." All three Runners set their jaws, leaving Ben behind, and set out into the Maze, running the routine run around the Glade before they would return to map it out once again. They had begun to ask for paper and writing utensils as a way to help them know if their was a way out. Naturally, the Creators did send the materials to them along with a note reading 'You'll never find a way out, Minho.', in all its creepiness. The Runners didn't particularly care, of course, but it was still creepy and annoying. Not to mention they sent the same note up each month with a different name on it each time.

Ben wandered off to find Nick who had planned on finding Ben's place in the Glade that day. Or within the next ten days. Either way worked.

As the boys were running, Thomas' voice entered Newt's head once again. _'Hey Newt? Your one of those guys who runs around the Maze all day, right?'_

_'Got that right, mate!' _Newt answered brightly and could almost feel Thomas grin with delight.

_'Perfect. Okay, Newt, there's a place that the WICKs call the Cliff. It's pretty much a vast void of nothingness, except for one spot. Through that spot is something called a Flat-trans. It's a flat, shimmering but almost invisible surface that can appear and disappear randomly. Through there is the HQ for WICKED. It's also where the Grievers come from, so if you can, avoid it, but it could also save your life. If you're ever stuck out in the Maze during the night, either head for changing limbs and get the Griever caught in it, or head to the Cliff. That wait-and-dive thingy is perfect for it, but it won't kill the Griever. That thing'll survive but it won't be coming back.'_

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><p><strong>This entire story is written out and I don't intend to give you any more of it until we've got a review. Maybe. I might just put it up now cause I want to.<strong>


	2. Chapter 2: Glue

**Disclaimer: Refer to the first chapter.**

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><p>Thoughts flew around Newt's mind like a whirlwind. He could do this. He had to do this. Anything was better than the endless existence of running mazes that he lived. The Maze, oh the Maze. It was like a puzzle that could never be solved, as though there was no way out, which, of course, there wasn't. The WICKs had made it that way. The only way out led to almost certain death. Until Tommy would come, of course. Then they would be able to get out. Tommy would come in four long months. Four whole months of running the Maze. Newt couldn't last that long.<p>

Oh yes, Newt wanted to end it all.

So as he ran deeper into the Maze, he didn't speak to his brother, who was gently probing his thoughts, wondering what was going on, and endless asking of questions reaching Newt's mind. He just ran, and he would continue to run for hours until he found the right spot.

There was one spot he knew would work, far from the Glade, where no one would hear his screams as he hit the ground.

Tommy had finally stopped asking questions, but he remained present in Newt's mind, latching onto the thoughts of his brother, just as Newt had done many times to him.

Finally, Tommy spoke again. _'Don't do this mate.'_

Newt jumped out of his skin, tumbling to the ground in a heap, before huffing in annoyance, before getting to his feet and continuing to run. _'Tommy, I've bloody made my decision. Don't try and stop me now, mate. Just let me do this.'_

_'I can't let you do this, Newt. Your my brother! You lead the Glade in so many ways! Look, each of you has an invisible tattoo on the back of your neck that'll appear at the start of the Scorch Trials. Yours says 'Subject A5; The Glue'. Without you, this entire place will fall apart and never be the same again. When the next newbie arrives tomorrow, they'll be as scared and confused as heck, like everyone else, but the Gladers will be too busy mourning you to do much of anything! And after that, it'll get worse. Total and absolute anarchy. By the time that three months have passed, about ten will still be alive, and then you've got this twelve-year-old kid being thrown in! And following him will be me! All of you will die.'_

Newt recognized the warning in his brother's voice, begging him to continue living, even if only for the sake of the others.

Speaking aloud, Newt whispered "I have to do this," and something deep within him sank, and Tommy's voice was far more distant.

_'Then I'm sorry Newt, but I have to do this...'_

Newt's body jerked out of his control, with only a soothing caress of his mind. Suddenly he was tripping, his left foot landing badly, crumpling beneath him. He almost screamed in pain as agony washed up through him, and then he did. The pain was almost too much to bear and Newt's mind returned to being his. Tommy, in some cruel, twisted way, had saved his life even if it meant more pain.

He blacked out.

Someone was carrying him. Warm arms wrapped around Newt's shoulders and under his knees, holding him firmly in place against their chest. His ankle throbbed painfully as it shook, every bounce letting lose a new wave of pain. He whimpered faintly as the person squeezed his shoulder reassuringly.

"Slim it, Newt, we're almost their." It was Alby's voice, deep and the only thing Newt could hear through the throb of pain. His head lolled to one side as darkness threatened his vision once again, but Newt pushed it away so that it only peeped into the edges of his vision and curled around his other senses. He was drifting off again, the pain becoming too much on his wiry frame without the presence of Tommy to sooth it. _'I'm so, so sorry, Newt, so sorry,'_ the voice whispered into his head, taking an edge of the pain. That was an amazing factor of being telepathic. You had twice the pain-threshold with two people withstanding it. Of course, the percentage remained with the one who was actually experiencing it, but their telepathy partner could also feel it, bringing it to them instead of the original person.

That was what Tommy was doing, tapping in with his own threshold to help his honorary brother resist the agony of a sprained ankle.

Sunlight flooded his vision, and suddenly Newt was flinching as he heard Alby scream "Med-jacks!" while placing Newt down on the grass, careful of his bad ankle. Tommy retreated as Clint and Jeff, the two amazing Med-jacks, came up, asking what had happened.

Gritting his teeth, Newt answered them. "Bloody took a bad step. Passed out after screaming. Sprained my ankle, I think."

Clint already was examining the ankle, Jeff restraining Newt as his back arched in pain. "Dude, I didn't know that was physically possible! It's not broken, but it's swollen up so much that I would think it was! Damn, man, you aint going back in that Maze for a long time. But it is just a sprain. It'll heal in anywhere between a few months and a year and a half." Newt relaxed against the warm grass, panting.

"Good that. I don't want to end up tripping over myself and becoming Griever-meat. But dang, I wish I could run..."

Running was freedom in Newt's mind. If he could run, he could be free, for when he ran he truly free, truly strong, truly... Newt...

The pain became too much as Clint was wrapping Newt's ankle in a bandage and he passed out once again, waking hours later to the bloody newbie alarm while in the Homestead.

Jeff was there, examining something before grinning with delight. "Good your up, mate! Gally just finished making these things." He held up two crutches, made from wood, that were perfect for Newt's height.

"Bloody hell, I didn't know the shank could do something like that!"

Jeff grinned, watching Newt sit up and grasp each crutch in his hands, getting a feel for them.

He tested his wait on them, and feeling them hold up, began to walk on them. "Wicked, mate, wicked. I'll have to remember to thank that shank sometime!"

Jeff grinned. "He's just glad he could help, after that whole matter of you saving him when he first got here. Felt he had to return the favor somehow.

_'They need you,'_ Tommy whispered as Jeff left to meet the new Greenie. _'More than you think.'_

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><p><strong>I don't normally update twice in a day, but I will today. If your wondering why Newt's ankle isn't broken, here's why. I sprained my ankle nine months ago and I'm still having trouble in athletics since I'm liable to sprain it again. It puffed up to three times the original size and even now looks unnaturally big. I figured that if he'd broken something badly, he wouldn't have been walking on it just a few months later. At least crutches or a really ridiculous limp or something, not the limp he has in the books. As for that too much pain thing, mine hurt like an elephant had just stomped on it. Touching it literally had tears coming to my eyes, so if Newt's was worse, I can't even imagine what wrapping it must have been like.<strong>


	3. Chapter 3: Dragons

**Disclaimer: Refer to first chapter.**

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><p><em>'May the WICKs be in you favor, mate, 'cause I'm coming up later today and I have a feeling I'm going to be scared flip-less.'<em>

_'There be dragons, brother. There be dragons.'_

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><p>How right Tommy was.<p>

The Box came late that day, leaving the Gladers confused.

Ten minutes before it did arrive, the two-minute 'Newbie Alarm' went off causing shouts of delight to brighten the quiet area of the Glade. Newt had gotten off his crutches a few days before the current Greenie arrived, a twelve-year-old boy by the name of Chuck, to whom Tommy had smiled about and chuckled, stating that the boy was absolutely adorable, even if he did need to lose weight.

A low, grinding noise filled the Glade as the Box came rumbling up.

Boys rushed for the area as the Box's top opened up, revealing a smaller boy of sixteen with dark brown hair of an ashen tone and hazel brown eyes, protected from the sudden light by two tanned arms. The boy, who Newt knew was Tommy, pressed into a corner.

Gally jumped down into the Box, grinning at Tommy, who had lowered his arms enough to see, with a bright, earnest and absolutely terrifying smile. "Day One, Greenie, welcome to the Glade." Soon, Tommy was out of the Box, though trembling with fear and pressed as far away from the Gladers as he could get. Newt knew he couldn't reach out with his mind just yet, that would scare Tommy even more, but it hurt him to see his brother in such a place. Jeers came at the boy from all directions, some thinking he would be a Slopper, others saying that there was no way back, something about a one way ticket. One was curious about what Keeper Tommy would get, but if Newt knew his brother as well as he did, Tommy would be a Runner, just as he had been. The taunts and jibes quickly became too much and Tommy whirled sprinting, making it halfway to the open doors before tripping over his own legs on the uneven footing and falling to the ground, horror dawning on his face as he stood, staring up at the walls that towered above them, realization then showing on his face.

_'I'm trapped!' _Tommy's voice came through their link with fear etching every bit of the thought. Something inside Newt softened slightly and he allowed a piece of calm to pour through their link in trying to sooth Tommy, whose breathing was quick and ragged, coming in gasps while his face was so pale it shouldn't have been possible. He then headed straight for the forest. Newt flinched. If Tommy found the Graveyard, might the almighty WICKs, the great and terrible Creators, help them. He would go completely jacked in the head.

Having gotten off his crutches a month before, Newt's leg could handle a strange, limping run that was nearly as quick as his old run. If they lasted that long, he could have become a Runner once again in just a few months. He sprinted full-out after his panicking honorary brother who had lost his memories, Minho, who hadn't gone out running that day, following right after him and having a bit of trouble keeping up even with Newt's limp. Tommy was struggling with his ragged gasps, not running as quickly as he'd like to have been, so the Runner and former Runner had no trouble catching up, one Glader heading up on either side of the Greenie. Minho was speaking in a calming voice as he slowed to match the Greenie's quick pace and reached out to brush his shoulder, causing Tommy to flinch away, running into Newt who yelped and grabbed the Greenie's arm, pulling him to a stop.

Tommy wrestled and writhed trying to get away from the two Gladers with all his might.

It hurt Newt that his brother didn't remember him just as much as Tommy must have hurt when Newt went into the Glade with the first group of thirty.

Together, Minho and Newt wrestled Tommy to the ground as he struggled to get away, far away, to leave this place.

"Let me go!" He shouted, and Newt allowed a little more emotion to flow through the link, causing Tommy's breathing to slow ever so slightly.

"We can't do that, mate," Newt stated simply, still restraining his brother. His voice was calm, no traces of irritation or anything of the sort, a stark contrast to the fury and fear in his brother's voice.

Minho's jaw dropped as he heard Newt speak. The accents... They weren't just similar, they were exactly the same, not as though they were from the same place, but as though they hadn't been separated for ten years straight, interacting with the same people for their entire lives, never leaving each others sides. "This is klunk!" He whispered in horror.

Soon, they had dumped a still raggedly breathing Tommy into the Pit, where they placed the Greenie's who were scared klunk-less and liable to make a mad dash for the Maze, which would probably lead to their death. Newt, having no duty to attend to with no injured to be cared for by the Med-jacks, the group that Newt had joined until he could be a Runner again, sat outside the Pit, tapping into his reserves of calm and sending it in waves towards Tommy, so that he felt his breath calm and slowly relax, until Newt felt that they might be able to let him out. "You won't run again, will you, mate?"

When Tommy didn't respond, Newt took it as a yes. "Brilliant, Greenie! Name's Newt and I'm second in command 'round here. Can you tell me anything about yourself, who you are, where you came from?"

Tommy shook his head dully and miserably as Newt undid the door to the Pit, muttering about annoying Builders who were too good at what they did.

"I- I can't remember anything. Why can't I remember anything?" Tommy was hyperventilating, breathing quickening once again as Newt did get the Pit unlocked and gazed down at the young teen. He was twitching up a storm.

"Calm down, it's normal. You'll get your name back in a few days. It's the one thing they let us all keep." The tall blond boy who had once been so tiny kept his voice quiet and soothing for his honorary brother who was clearly still panicking.

"What is this place?" He murmured faintly, eyes dull with fear as he watched Newt's every move.

Newt grinned down at his friend, extending a nimble fingered hand into the Pit. "Let me show you, mate. Oh, and welcome to the Glade."

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><p><strong>'There be dragons' is a reference to Star Wars, particularly Jaden Korr who said 'There be dragons' instead of <em>this statement was taken out due to spoilers<em>.**


	4. Chapter 4: Predicted

**Disclaimer: Refer to the first chapter**

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><p>"Don't you bloody do it, Tommy! Don't you bloody do it!" Newt's ferocious shout could hardly be head over the sound of grinding walls and moving stone. With a final resounding and hollow sound they thumped together, sealing Tommy off from the Glade for an entire night. As he reached the wall at his quick pace, Newt screamed out a roar of pure agony, but not that felt by himself, but for his dear brother, Tommy. A fist, cold against the smooth stone wall caused the tall boy to cry out softly in pain. No, not Tommy. Why! The goddamn Greenie, Newt's bloody blood brother for God's sake was gone! "Tommy, you're a goddamn idiot!" He whispered, the sound being swallowed by the low, haunting moan of Grievers. His pain resounded in his almost silent voice as he turned inwards, searching for an explanation. Of course, Tommy just had to have a hero's complex and just had to rush off to save the Keeper of the Runners.<p>

In a single instant, a single thump, the most important people in Newt's life were gone. Alby, who had been Newt's first friend when he arrived at the Glade, more than just a guy who wanted to see who Newt was. Minho, who had accepted Newt for who he was, not what he had done. He had seen Newt as a strong kid you was simply a year younger than him. Finally there was his brother, his dear, dear and very honorary brother Thomas. Newt's mind couldn't grasp the idea of all three boys whom he was close to being gone. His body, it seemed, could.

Newt's knees hit the cold, hard ground of the Glade, all his energy draining from him. His eyes fluttered shut, as if he were falling asleep as he reached out for his brother in his mind, a comforting presence against the overwhelming fear that all three Gladers would be lost forever. A flashback flashed before Newt's eyes, Tommy, sweet, shy Tommy who cared for not himself, rushing through those wooden doors without even glancing back, not even noticing Newt's shout after him.

The soft steps of the other Gladers approached and a hand dropped onto Newt's shoulder, that of Clint, who Newt had grown closer to since spraining his ankle. The sound of his heart pounded into his ears and throbbed through his skull. A tear escaped through his closed eyes as Clint rubbed his shoulder gently. Eyes snapping open, suddenly angry, Newt whirled up and to his feet, tearing away from Clint to begin a long walk around the Glade. Clint, along with the rest of the boys, looked surprised and horrified at the look of pure pain and anger that was glued to Newt's face, even more than when he had first woken from his badly sprained ankle and almost screamed when it had brushed against the hand that was restraining it as gently as possible.

"What are you bloody slintheads looking at? They're gone. They aint comin' back. We've lost Nick, Alby and a goddamn stubborn Greenie." Anger laced his voice. "We'll never see them alive again."

Only Chuck tried to fight back. "We don't know that..." His voice trailed off helplessly and Newt turned on him.

"They're never coming back! No one survives a night in the Maze! The Grivers will have 'em before midnight comes! That's always when we hear the screams. That's when _Stephen_ screamed. No more daydreams, Chuckie. Your just a newbie yourself. No one makes it back, and the day when someone does is the day when our world will be turned inside out!"

"Newt," a calm, firm voice ordered, Frypan. "That's enough. Snapping at Chuck won't do anything. We're all shucking shocked, man, but we ain't tearing at the kid. We've just lost our leaders and our shuckin' stubborn Greenie. We'll have a Gathering in the morning and decide what to do. Until then, you need to slim it. Tonight's gonna be a long one and tomorrow's gonna be even longer. Off to bed everyone. There's nothing we can do now, so we should do what's best for everyone else."

A rise of anger came from deep within Newt as he glared at Frypan before whirling and storming off to the forest where the figurine of his little sister still sat among the grass at the base of a tree.

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><p>Time lost meaning to Newt as he stumbled through the forest, reaching the creek before he dropped to his knees and sat back, tears streaming down his face and landing with quiet splashes into the rush of the creek. He wasn't going to get any sleep, and knew that it wasn't good, but Newt couldn't have cared any less. He just sat their, arms limp on his legs as he stared into the rushing current that washed away leaves as quickly as Newt wished he could wash away memories. Anger was his drive right then, anger at Minho and Alby for getting lost on something so important, angry at Tommy for going after them, and more than that angry at himself for being so angry at them. It was all just anger that flowed through him loosely but didn't reach the protected part of his mind where the fear dwelled. That overwhelming pang of fear that throbbed into him, coming from his brother.<p>

"Tommy," he whispered into the rush of the creek. "Why did you have to leave us? You were my brother."

A sob shook Newt's shoulders and his mental walls crumbled away, allowing the tears to flow faster than before and the pain he had held back from his ankle after such intense use so often throbbed through him. It just made him cry harder. His rage diminished to a flow of grief that ran through him and reached into all of him, right down to every last hair on his head.

The shields that he had begun to build ever since he had arrived at the Glade, his defiance, temper and strength was just a show to protect the broken-heartedness of being separated from Tommy. And then, Tommy was gone once again. It cracked his shields into a thousand pieces that shattered and fell into those thousands of pieces all across of a plane of his true feelings, his pain, fear, confusion, joy, sadness and grief that he had buried too long ago and now was surfacing once again.

The images flashed in his mind, Alby patrolling the Glade with his loud laughter before slimming himself in mere seconds as a Glader came up with something that could be solved and that Alby was responsible for solving. Minho, the late nights where all the Runners gathered together with glasses of Gally's moonshine to talk about the Maze, exchange ideas and theories about it. Then there was Tommy, so lost and confused within the great walls, yet so part of it all the same, as if he had built the entire place from hand. He seemed to have always been part of their new home.

Tommy's hazel eyes made him look just so innocent as he stared around in awe at the immense Glade. So many question, never-ending with one coming blasting after another, his crooked and quirky grins that begged for answers just like his words and eyes did, the restless movements, endless pacing, even slightly annoying to Newt since the very beginning when they had first actually met. Tommy made the entire Glade feel so much better as he questioned every detail, ready to fight to make things better. They had 'known' each other for so long, yet so short all the same. Since they were three, or since just three days before. So long in some ways, yet so different all the same. Pieces of Newt, little chunks of him, warmed at the thought of his brother while others boiled with annoyance. They were brothers, after all.

All that was heard through the night was Newt's sobs that shook his shoulders and rocked his soul.

The light dawned on the Glade as Newt crumpled against a tree, but he was still the first to the doors where he peaked inside, watching for any sign of the three Gladers to find nothing, which was not to his surprise.

But Newt had reason to believe that at least two were still alive. Past midnight, they had heard Minho shout frantically, urging Tommy to hurry up, before a voice shouted at something to follow him.

Shortly after their had been a slam of the Maze changing and then no sound. But it was still hope.

Then, stumbling from the darkness was Minho, with a few cuts oozing blood on his face, but mostly fine. Following him was... Tommy. But where was Alby? Certainly not with the two boys.

"What happened? How in bloody-"

"We'll tell you later! We have to save Alby!"

Newt's mind was spinning as he went from relieved to confused in just a few short seconds.

"How-?"

"Just come here!" Tommy led Newt to a spot on the Maze wall where, hanging above was a familiar boy with dark hair cut short. Alby.

"Is he... alive?"

"Was when I left him," Tommy replied with a shrug.

"You... Never mind. You two need to get your butts inside the Glade and get some treatment. Tell the Runners to head over here to help me get Alby down. As soon as you've been treated and have gotten more than four hours of sleep, I expect the full story."

Newt sighed with relief when Minho bustled Tommy into the Glade and Newt and the Runners began to lift Alby down the wall. Everything was just fine.

Tommy was sleeping when Newt slipped into his room, watching the sleeping form of his brother with soft eyes. The boy stirred, eyes fluttering open to stare at Newt quietly.

"Sorry, mate. Didn't mean to wake you. Go back to sleep."

Tommy mumbled something incoherent before sitting up, eyes drowsy with sleep. His features were set into a soft, peaceful expression as though he had dreamed sleepily. Just as he opened his mouth, Newt spoke.

"No questions. You clearly need your sleep, so just get it."

"Am I really that predictable?"

Newt just nodded as he sat in one of the chairs in the room, not intending to leave. He watched Tommy breathe until his breaths were slow and peaceful and his eyes were closed.

Then, Newt left.

His brother was safe, and that was what mattered most to him.

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><p><strong>Ya know, I think I liked looking at this chapter in pink better. No, seriously, I wrote this in pink. I am a person who has all of a book in one document and then colour codes it on that word doc.<strong>

**I hope y'all liked this chapter! I'm hoping for at least a review before I update again, but I'm flexible. I'll update anyways.**


	5. Chapter 5: Subconscious

Disclaimer: Refer to first chapter.

"It's okay," Newt assured Clint, who was looking unsure. "He can hear whatever I hear."

"Well... I can't make it all out, bit..." Clint glanced unsurely at Tommy once again, before continuing nervously. "She keeps saying _his_ name over and over."

The look on Tommy's face was ridiculous and Newt snickered softly. The expression said so much about his thoughts. Tommy was thinking, wondering, when the references to him would never end, who the girl was, how did he know her? Newt wanted to reach out with his mind to reach out with his mind and assure him that it would stop soon. If this girl was the last one, there was no other choice. Of course, he only allowed a gentle trickle of calm to reach his brother, scarcely enough to be felt, but enough to work subconsciously.

Just as many questions swirled around Newt's mind. He shoved them down and forced his tone into a dissmissal. "Thanks Clint. Get us a report of all that, okay?"

The Med-jack nodded at both sixteen-year-olds and smiled giving them a nod and a quick assurance that he would.

"Pull up a chair, mate." Newt sat at the edge of the bed, watching his brother calmly. He looked relieved that Newt hadn't broken out into accusations. As Tommy did so, Newt asked a quiet question. "Anything ring a bell? Anything at all?" He leaned forward eagerly, waiting for his brother's answer.

Tommy stared at the girl's face for a long minute, face creased with concentration like it had before in Newt's visions so many times. Hundreds of times in the thousands of quick snapshots of his past had Tommy looked so concentrated, sometimes even when they had been communicating mentally, as well as after Tommy had been dragged off by whichever doctor for whatever test they had planned for that day. For whatever class or surgery they were doing to 'improve' their favourite 'subject'.

A long few minutes later, something dawned on Tommy's face. "I do know her," he decided finally, eyes misfocused he was concentrating so hard.

"What?! Who is she!?" Newt's eyes sparkled as he begged mentally for answers, though already half knew the answers, but none of the details. Conversations were always so short.

Tommy shrugged a reply. "No idea, mate. But somethings clicked- I know her from somewhere. I just do it."

"Well keep thinking, mate. Don't loose your concentration." Tommy's eyes closed as he concentrated even harder before he suddenly jumped out of his concentration, standing suddenly to stumble back, before looking at Newt with a look of confusion in his gaze.

"Did she say something?"

Newt then looked even more confused. "Say something? No, I didnt't here a thing."

"Strange," the boy murmured, sitting down once again. "I could have sworn that I heard her say 'Teresa'.

"Teresa? No, I didn't hear anything. Must've sprung loose from your bloody memory blocks, Tommy! That must be her bloody name! Teresa. Has to be!"

Tommy looked edgy, more than. His face was filled with a look that was a mixture of fear and confusion. "It was... I swear I hear it. But in my mind, mate. I can't explain it."

Newt sat back, a faint smile coming over his features. Then that smile burst open into a grin so wide it split his face in two. "I've been waiting for something like this to pop up. Sit down and slim it, Tommy, I've got a lot to explain to you. You may not understand, but I do, and I know." He jumped again. "I came here two years ago, one of thirty boys who woke up in the Glade by the Box. Nick, who was our leader, or took charge anyways, was the only guy who was really calm, so he tried to get the rest of us to calm down, too. Took him about two hours, but he had calmed twenty-eight people, that's excluding him and me. I was the youngest guy there and couldn't move." Tommy was giving him a strange look. "It'll make sense soon, I promise, but for now, just wait. Nick managed to get me to calm down, took him hours, but he did. I bloody hid in the forest for days. Carved these figurines. They're still out there, ya know, mate. Anyways, fourteen days in, that's with Nick coming by every couple hours to check on me, I just crumpled one day. Started having these visions of my past. The first one was my mother. My name, my real one is Zachary, the name my mother called me. That is the name that is a name that will stick with me for my entire life. Newt is shortened from Newton. Second was just hours later. The WICKs, that's what we called those guys, brought me to a room with two desks and a bunkbed, with a boy about my age sitting there. That's you, bytheway. From their on it's little visions of our, lives, but the shocking one was from when I was six. We were doing this essay on some book, when my past self asked you, without speaking, to pull up a summary. The point is, telepathy exists, though it's not natural. They made us to be this way by implaninting something in our brains." _'Can you here me, Tommy?'_

The boy jumped from his skin, before reaching out tentatively with his mind, allowing Newt to feel a faint glimpse at his emotions. _'Yes, I can. What you're telling me is that this girl, Teresa, can do this, too?'_

'Exactly. Now slim it, mate, I think this is enough sitting around for one day.'

Quiet reigned, before Tommy laughed softly, grinning. "This is certainly strange. Ya know, it's strange. I never remembered my name, not like everyone else. It didn't just come to me like a realization, I heard someone say it."

"You see, Tommy? We were so close that we were brothers. We knew eachother so well that-"

"-We could finsh each other's-"

"-Sentences."

They grinned ance once again, they were brothers, close as could be. That night, Newt re-taught Tommy his telepathic abilities.

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	6. Chapter 6: Hole

**Disclaimer: Refer to first chapter.**

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><p>"All right, Greenie," Alby said, looking much better as he sat in the middle of the semicircle of chairs, next to Newt, who was watching Tommy with a calm expression on his face and very different thoughts. The other chairs were all occupied save for two. It only served as a reminder that Zart and Gally had been taken by the bloody Grievers. "Forget all the beat-around-the-bush klunk. Start talking."<p>

Tommy, still looking slightly queasy from the Changing, forced himself to take a second and gain his composure. It was clear that the sixteen-year-old had a klunk-load of information and wanted only for his words to sound as real as possible, not like the shucking klunk that the Gladers were somewhat expecting.

"It's a long story," he began. "We don't have time to go through it all, but I'll tell you the gist of it. When I went through the Changing, I saw flashes of images—hundreds of them—like a slide show in fast forward. A lot came back to me, but only some of it's clear enough to talk about. Other stuff has faded or is fading." He paused, gathering his thoughts one last time. "But I remember enough. The Creators are testing us. The Maze was never meant to be solved. It's all been a trial. They want the winners—or survivors—to do something important." He paused, taking a deep breath and gathering his thoughts. "But I remember enough. The Creators are testing us. The Maze was never meant to be solved. It's all been a trial. They want the winners—or survivors—to do something important." He trailed off, looking terribly confused about something. Through the link, Newt could sense that he didn't know what order things should be told in. The tall blond allowed a soothing reassurance to reach his brother.

"What?" Newt asked, his confusion showing on his face as he tried to sooth his panicking brother.

"Let me start over," Tommy said, rubbing his eyes. "Every single one of us was taken when we were really young. I don't remember how or why—just glimpses and feelings that things had changed in the world, that something really bad happened. I have no idea what. The Creators stole us, and I think they felt justified in doing it. Somehow they figured out that we have above-average intelligence, and that's why they chose us. I don't know, most of this is sketchy and doesn't matter that much anyway.

"I can't remember anything about my family or what happened to them. But after we were taken, we spent the next few years learning in special schools, living somewhat normal lives until they were finally able to finance and build the Maze. All our names are just stupid nicknames they made up—like Alby for Albert Einstein, Newt for Isaac Newton, and me—Thomas. As in Edison."

Alby looked like he'd been slapped in the face. The pain, the pure agony, that showed on his face darkened Newt's thoughts considerably, something he tried to hide from his brother. "Our names… these ain't even our real names?"

Tommy shook his head. "As far as I can tell, we'll probably never know what our names were. Unless our memories return some time and we can remember that far back."

"What are you saying?" Frypan asked. "That we're freakin' orphans raised by scientists?"

The faint humour of the statement lightened the situation slightly, but Newt could feel the tension rising quickly in the room.

"Yes," Tommy said, hoping his expression didn't give away just how depressed he felt, if Newt's sixth sense of his brother was not lying. "Supposedly we're really smart and they're studying every move we make, analyzing us. Seeing who'd give up and who wouldn't. Seeing who'd survive it all. No wonder we have so many beetle blade spies running around this place. Plus, some of us have had things… altered in our brains. Implanted devices. They can control us if need be, influence us, even wipe our memories once again. They can also give us memories. Basically, we're at their mercy."

"I believe this klunk about as much as I believe Frypan's food is good for you," Winston grumbled, looking tired and indifferent.

"Why would I make this up?" Tommy said, his voice rising. He'd gotten stung on purpose to remember these things! Newt whole-heartedly agreed, glaring at the other original Glader, those left having been dubbed 'Glays'. "Better yet, what do you think is the explanation? That we live on an alien planet? I don't think so, Winston. I don't think so..."

He lapsed into silence.

"Just keep talking," Alby said. "But I don't get why none of us remembered this stuff. I've been through the Changing, but everything I saw was…" He looked around quickly, like he'd just said something he shouldn't have. "I didn't learn nothin'." Newt could tell he was lying. Alby just didn't want to talk about what he'd been through.

"I'll tell you in a minute why I think I learned more than others," Thomas said, obviously dreading that part of the story. "Should I keep going or not?"

"Talk," Newt said.

Tommy sucked in a big breath, as if he were about to start a race. "Okay, somehow they wiped our memories—not just our childhood, but all the stuff leading up to entering the Maze. They put us in the Box and sent us up here—a big group to start and then one a month over the last two years."

"But why?" Newt asked. "What's the bloody point?"

Tommy held up a hand for silence. "I'm getting there. Like I said, they wanted to test us, see how we'd react to what they call the Variables, and to a problem that has no solution. See if we could work together—build a community, even. Everything was provided for us, and the problem was laid out as one of the most common puzzles known to civilization—a maze. All this added up to making us think there had to be a solution, just encouraging us to work all the harder while at the same time magnifying our discouragement at not finding one." He paused to look around, as though making sure they were all still listening. "What I'm saying is, there is no solution."

Chatter broke out, questions overlapping each other.

Tommy held his hands up again, the look on his face saying that he wished he could just zap his thoughts into everyone else's brains. "See? Your reaction proves my point. Most people would've given up by now. But I think we're different. We couldn't accept that a problem can't be solved—especially when it's something as simple as a maze. And we've kept fighting no matter how hopeless it's gotten."

Tommy's voice had steadily risen as he spoke and a faint blush moved up to rest on his face. "Whatever the reason, it makes me sick! All of this—the Grievers, the walls moving, the Cliff—they're just elements of a stupid test. We're being used and manipulated. The Creators wanted to keep our minds working toward a solution that was never there. Same thing goes for Teresa being sent here, her being used to trigger the Ending—whatever that means—the place being shut down, gray skies, on and on and on. They're throwing crazy things at us to see our response, test our will. See if we'll turn on each other. In the end, they want the survivors for something important."

Frypan stood up. "And killing people? That's a nice little part of their plan?"

Tommy felt a moment of fear, worried that the Keepers might take out their anger on him for knowing so much, Newt sensed. And it was only about to get worse. "Yes, Frypan, killing people. The only reason the Grievers are doing it one by one is so we don't all die before it ends the way it's supposed to. Survival of the fittest. Only the best of us will escape."

Frypan kicked his chair. "Well, you better start talking about this magical escape, then!"

"He will," Newt said, quietly. Tommy would explain. Newt believed in him. "Shut up and listen."

Minho, who'd been mostly silent the whole time, cleared his throat. "Something tells me I'm not gonna like what I'm about to hear."

Minho, who'd been mostly silent the whole time, cleared his throat. "Something tells me I'm not gonna like what I'm about to hear."

"Probably not," Tommy replied nervously. He closed his eyes for a second and folded his arms. The next few minutes were going to be crucial. It buzzed in the air, causing all the Keepers to lean forwards. "The Creators want the best of us for whatever it is they have planned. But we have to earn it." The room fell completely silent, every eye on him. "The code."

"The code?" Frypan repeated, his voice lighting up with a trace of hope. "What about it?"

Thomas looked at him, paused for effect. "It was hidden in the wall movements of the Maze for a reason. I should know—I was there when the Creators did it."

For a long moment, no one said anything, and all Thomas saw were blank faces. He felt the sweat beading on his forehead, slicking his hands; he was terrified to keep going.

Newt looked completely baffled- looked being the keyword -and finally broke the silence. "What are you talking about, mate?"

"Well, first there's something I have to share. About me and Teresa. There's a reason Gally accused me of so much stuff, and why everyone who's gone through the Changing recognizes me."

Newt expected the other Gladers to burst out into questions.

"Teresa and I are… different," he continued. "We were part of the Maze Trials from the very beginning—but against our will, I swear it. Also- before the Maze and all this shucky stuff, Newt and I were as close as brothers."

All eyes then turned to Newt who shrugged. "What can I say? We grew up together. I found out on the fourteenth day, the one where I collapsed in the forest. The day after I became a Runner is the day before I first spoke to Tommy in my living memory. There is a reason I nicknamed him in about two minutes. And as for why I've looked surprise? I'm a good actor. It's in my blood."

Minho was the one to speak up now. "Thomas, what're you talking about? About Teresa, not Newt. We'll talk 'bout that later."

"Teresa and I were used by the Creators. If you had your full memories back, you'd probably want to kill us. But I had to tell you this myself to show you we can be trusted now. So you'll believe me when I tell you the only way we can get out of here."

Tommy quickly scanned the faces of the Keepers, wondering one last time if he should say it, if they would understand. But he knew he had to. He had to.

Tommy took a deep breath, then said it. "Teresa and I helped design the Maze. We helped create the whole thing."

Everyone seemed too stunned to respond. Blank faces stared back at him once again. Tommy figured they either didn't understand or didn't believe him. _'Slim it, brother. It seems more likely if you're calmer. Just relax.'_

"What's that supposed to mean?" Frypan finally asked. "You're a bloody sixteen-year-old. How could you have created the Maze?"

Tommy couldn't help doubting it a little himself—but he knew what he'd remembered. As crazy as it was, he knew it for the truth. "We were… smart. And I think it might be part of the Variables. But most importantly, Teresa and I have a… gift that made us very valuable as they designed and built this place." He stopped, knowing it must all sound absurd."

"Speak!" Winston yelled. "Spit it out!"

"We're telepathic! We can talk to each other in our freaking heads! Oh, and I've also got Newt in my head." Saying it out loud almost made him look ashamed, as if he'd just admitted he was a thief.

Winston blinked in surprise; someone coughed. Newt laughed. "You almost jumped out of your shucking skin when she first spoke to you! I would've laughed if you hadn't been hyperventilating... Damn I'm glad I retaught you the whole telepathy thing. I'm fairly sure that I could hear every single thought of yours. So irritating."

'No good way to break it to you, Tommy. Teresa provided the perfect opportunity.'

"But listen to me," Tommy continued, in a hurry to defend himself. "They forced us to help. I don't know how or why, but they did." He paused. "Maybe it was to see if we could gain your trust despite having been a part of them. Maybe we were meant all along to be the ones to reveal how to escape. Whatever the reason, with your Maps we figured out the code and we need to use it now."

Tommy looked around, and surprisingly, astonishingly, no one seemed angry. Most of the Gladers continued to stare blankly at him or shook their heads in wonder or disbelief. And for some odd reason, Minho was smiling.

"It's true, and I'm sorry," Tommy continued. "But I can tell you this—I'm in the same boat with you now. Teresa and I were sent here just like anyone else, and we can die just as easily. But the Creators have seen enough—it's time for the final test. I guess I needed the Changing to add the final pieces of the puzzle. Anyway, I wanted you to know the truth, to know there's a chance we can do this."

Newt shook his head back and forth, staring at the ground. Then he looked up, took in the other Keepers. "The Creators—those shanks did this to us, not Tommy and Teresa. The Creators. And they'll be sorry. And before you all ask, no, I wasn't technically with WICKED any more than you guys were. We all pitched in a few ideas for the Maze, Tommy and Teresa just a few more. What a lovely justice system."

"Whatever," Minho said, "who gives a klunk about all that—just get on with the escape already."

A lump formed in Tommy's throat if his expression was aything to go by. He was so relieved he almost couldn't speak. He'd been sure they'd put him under major heat for his confession, if not throw him off the Cliff. The rest of what he had to say almost seemed easy now. Newt smiled faintly as the fear lifted from his brother. The constant edginess was far too much for Newt. "There's a computer station in a place we've never looked before. The code will open a door for us to get out of the Maze. It also shuts down the Grievers so they can't follow us—if we can just survive long enough to get to that point."

"A place we've never looked before?" Alby asked. "What do you think we've been doing for two years?"

"Trust me, you've never been to this spot."

Minho stood up. "Well, where is it?"

"It's almost suicide," Thomas said, knowing he was putting off the answer. "The Grievers will come after us whenever we try to do it. All of them. The final test." He wanted to make sure they understood the stakes. The odds of everyone surviving were slim.

"So where is it?" Newt asked, leaning forward in his chair.

"Over the Cliff," Thomas answered. "We have to go through the Griever Hole."


	7. Chapter 7: Dragons

**Disclaimer: Refer to the first chapter.**

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><p>It all happened so quickly that Newt couldn't process it. Gally threw the knife, aiming for Tommy's heart, Chuck leaping forward in front of him. Minho pulled a staff from no where and threw, the sharpened point straight into Gally's heart.<p>

"No!" The blood-curling scream echoed through the chamber. "Please... No..."

Newt knelt next to his brother and wrapped an arm around the smaller boy's shoulders. "Shh, just breathe, Tommy, just breathe. Shh... Slim it now, breathe, calm down now. Relax, now. Shh..." He cradled his brother to him as the small boy's breath hitched and sobs began to escape from him.

Gally hadn't missed. Chuck, the sweet, idiotic, annoying boy, had jumped forth in front of the knife, taking it for Tommy. Newt loved the young boy just then. He had saved Tommy's life.

On the ground before the brothers was the small form of a child, not even thirteen, but dead with a bullet through his heart. Little Chuck, the boy who had always hoped and had been optimistic, who had _believed_ lay dead upon the ground.

Minho has a sorrowful look on his face as he knelt down on Tommy's other side. "He was a true friend, that kid. He will be remembered."

Frypan bowed his head from where he stood next to Winston, a small tear dragging down his face.

All was silent in the chamber, save for the slight hiss of steam escaping from a pipe. Gally was curled on his side, nearly dead when the last sign of life left him with a faint sigh. His form slumped. Minho's face darkened as that happened, the light leaving his eyes so that he was left with and expression of horror, fear and confusion. His face said he regretted not having thrown earlier. If he had thrown earlier, they wouldn't have lost Chuck.

A loud clang sounded from the other side of the chamber, where the steel doors were sealed shut, but then were swinging open with loud squeaks that, while awful, were nothing compared to the agony of hearing the Glade's doors close.

A group of men rushed in, dressed in dark clothes that looked to be military. Newt felt a rush of fear plague him, but he pushed it down, sending soothing emotions through the link in a vain effort to calm his younger brother. Chuck had been the one to show him around the Glade first, just giving a quick overview, before the actual tour with Alby. A tear traced Newt's cheak as well, falling to land on the dark ground without even a sound. He had been so close to Alby, as though the older boy were his older brother. But not as close to him as he had been to Nick.

'N- Newt?'

Thomas sniffled mentally.

'I'm here, Tommy. Right here.'

Newt murmured back in his mind, hand gently rubbing his brothers back in warm, soothing motions.

'Who are these guys?'

'I don't know, Tommy, but we're ready for them just as they aren't ready for us.'

A faint smiled traced Tommy's mental features, but it quickly disappeared once again. Chuck's untimely death had affected the Greenie greatly.

A large, gloved hand gripped Newt's shoulder, another one landing on Tommy's. "It's time to go, boys."

"No!" The strangled scream escaped Tommy's mouth as he fought against the grip to clutch at Chuck's still form. "We can't just leave him here! He deserves a burriel, not to be left to rot!"

Newt was also fighting against the grip, Minho having already been dragged away from them, his war cries howling into the chaos. Newt tore at the man's gloved hand. The person held Newt's struggling form against his chest, rubbing the palm of his hand against Newt's chest as he continued to struggle. "Calm down, child. We're getting you out of here. Relax, now. Just let me help you. Calm, now."

Jamming a elbow into the man's stomach, eliciting a annoyed grunt, Newt spoke angrily, "Let me go you bloody slinthead!" The others weren't fighting so much, allowing themselves to be ushered away to a verhicle created form pitch black metal with immense blades on top. After a long second, Newt, too, was torn away from Tommy and Chuck before being ushered to the vehicle, two men pulling Tommy along with them. "Where are you taking us!" Newt shouted as he was pushed into the vehicle, caught by Minho who prevented him from falling on his face. Soon Tommy was right next to him, pressed into the pack of twenty or so Gladers who had pressed together to create a sea of limbs and bodies. The pack of boys mumbled softly to each other, packing tight together to get away from the soldiers who had dragged them away from their dead friends.

Slowly, the Gladers allowed themselves to relax as the immense machine began to soar, lifting over the Glade to reveal the sheer beauty of the place. Hundreds of miles of Maze encircled the area that they had once known as their home. The Glade looked... peaceful. No fires roared within, no Grievers pounded around nor was any activity seen. Minho, one of the first to the Glade, allowed a choked sob to escape him. "It's gone," he whispered. "Everything's gone. Everyone's dead. We're all that's left. Nick, Alby, George, Stephen. All gone." He continued to mumble softly as he watched the Glade slowly disappear. "Dead, dead, dead, gone, gone, gone..."

"No," one boy soothed him softly. "It's not gone. We're still here. Nothing ever dies so long as it is remembered. We will remember them and our Glade. It is our home. We will never forget. Now slim it, Minho, we've got soldier-dudes here.

"Don't worry," the man who was in the vehicle with them said. "Everything is about to change."

"There be dragons." Tommy said this, just as Newt spoke as well.

"We will see."

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><p><strong>This was the last chapter of There Be Dragons. I hope you all like it and I intend to write up one-shots of scenes all through the story that fills in the details. There will probably be a sequel, but you have to remember that I am overly fond of time-skips right now, so I'll probably end up skipping 1516% of the story, if not more, but I will definitely *SPOILER ALERT* continue on until Newt's death and end it there.**


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